Blind Love
by truthinpassion
Summary: In a writer's universe there are always infinite possibilities.  This is one of them, which is dedicated to all of us who are irresistably drawn to the idea of finding our own kind of Henry Fitzroy.
1. Chapter 1

TITLE: Blind Love

DISCLAIMER: Due to a breakdown in receiving creative vibes, I did not inherit the wherewithal to put down on paper the characters from Blood Ties. That credit goes to Tanya Huff, who obviously had her creative radio turned to the right frequency while I was fleshing out mythological creatures in Wales….Oh, well. And to Peter Mohan who knows a good read when he comes across one and who is just as dedicated to keeping to the characters' true selves as we are at keeping them alive and going during this terribly long and interminable dry spell. Thank you Lifetime for picking up the second half of the first season…Please be just as brilliant and contract for a full second season of episodes quickly.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Don't ask me where this came from, but all writers are always asking what if….

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As he closed out the account for room 206, Peter Jensen glanced up from his position behind the desk at the Toronto Radisson in time to see the young woman from last night step from the polished bank of elevators set at the left side of the lobby. She wasn't beautiful or tall, or dressed in any outlandish style of clothing, but something about her made people stop and notice. Her girl next door face, rosy and freckled, framed by a disarray of curling chocolate locks, defined the word cute. A pert nose, a gently sculpted chin, and glistening pink lips the lower one fuller than the top seemed perfect compliments to her high cheekbones.

She was dressed in a caftan style blouse that clung to high breasts, but fell in loose tempting folds below the waist band of brown linen trousers. The turquoise, brown, and pink colorful brushstrokes on her blouse swirled over a background of cream complimented her skin tone and was a charming sight this early in the morning. Tan arms, long and slender, bore the weight of a half dozen or more silver bracelets of varying widths and design. Their jingling reminded Peter of the bells his mother had once made the family teacup poodle wear in order to be found since the little dervish could hide himself in the tiniest of places. On her left hand, she wore a single ring; an oval garnet on her middle finger.

As she walked across the lobby, her steps were sure, but not quick. She moved with all the grace of someone comfortable in their body, even though the body shape did not fit the more popularly classified definitions of desirable. She had curves; lush ones, ones a man could hold onto, and though she was short in stature, those curves were finely balanced.

"Good morning, Peter." She called as she passed before the reception desk.

Peter nodded. "Good morning, Miss Costello. You are certainly up early."

Laura's steps faltered and a frown turned down the dark line of brows across her pale green eyes. "Am I? Not too early, I hope? Time zone changes always mess me up."

Peter stared at those eyes, suddenly realizing what it was that made this woman so different from everyone else.

"It's eight thirty," he reassured.

"Oh." Laura breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, that's good."

Uncertain on how to proceed, Peter shuffled a few registration cards through his hands. "You…are you meeting a tour group?"

Laughter bubbled up as the woman shook her curls. "Not a tour group, but I am off to a meeting."

"Well, then, I wish you good luck, Miss Costello. If you like, the John at the door will be happy to get you a taxi to take you where you need to be."

"Perfect, Peter. I'll see you later." With a wave in his direction, Laura turned accurately toward the hotel door. In less than a minute she was standing on the red carpet beside the impeccably dressed doorman.

"A cab for you miss?"

"Yes, thank you, John."

Tipping the red cap in respect, John stepped toward the loading and unloading curb and held out a commanding hand. He was a tall man, lanky and lean, like Lurch, but confident and proud of the position he held. Client service was an art form he had perfected a long time ago, as was the astute ability to read people. The young woman who had followed him to the curb, however, baffled him on many levels. She used no cane that he could see, wore no protective glasses, and moved with fluid grace that belied her disability. If he hadn't been so observant of people, John would never have even noticed she was blind, she was that good.

"Where to, Miss?" He asked as a black cab pulled up to the curb.

"Insight Film Studios, please," said Laura with a smile. "I'm off to interview a vampire."

HHHHH

A/N….Anyone curious? Let me know.


	2. Chapter 2

TITLE: Blind Love

CONTINUITY: Interview with a vampire?

DISCLAIMER: Oh come on, unless I'm Tanya Huff or Peter Mohan, everyone knows I don't own any of the blood ties characters…Give me a break! However, I do own 4 cats ( well, maybe they own me), 2 dogs, and this twisted version of Kyle Schmid and Laura Costello 

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Do you really want to hear from me again? I would much prefer to hear from all of you, good or bad. In breathless anticipation of October 12…Salud!

HHHHHHH

As John closed the passenger door, sealing her inside the confines of the cab, Laura began to tremble. The cost of appearing controlled and confident was beginning to wear. She supposed she could put it down to time zone changes and jet lag; her long flight from Los Angeles via Chicago had taken eight hours, but being a woman always honest with herself and others, Laura knew it was her decision to follow her instincts which weighed heavily upon her. By coming here to Toronto, a world as foreign to her as the country it was in, she was risking everything; her secrets, her life, perhaps her very soul on the crazy lure of dreams.

Inside her head, that little voice of doubt begged her to turn around, to go back home and forget the foolishness. What could a blind girl hope to accomplish?

No, she wasn't blind, not really. She just saw things differently, through other senses beyond the remaining normal four. She was Sighted, gifted with seeing beyond what the average person could. And for the past year she had fought for her sanity through the bombardment of frightening visions. It wasn't until the one night six weeks ago, while flipping through her satellite channels for something good to sooth her weary mind, that she discovered a real world connection to her dreams.

His voice through her television speakers strummed across every nerve ending, calling to her. "It's been a long time, monsignor."

"You remember me. I'm flattered." The second voice, its cadence soft and cultured, chilled her straight to the bone. For a brief moment, the barest of heart beat seconds, she thought she was lost in one of her dreams, but the sharp pinch of cat claws on her legs nixed the idea completely. She was definitely awake with the television on, the remote control in her hand. But how could this be? How could her dreams be broadcast to the world?

" Do you remember her?"

The hoarse pain filled cry filled her ears as images from her dreams rose behind her eyes.

Dank, fetid, filled with the aroma of a hundred rotting souls trapped within their mortal pain wracked shells, the Church's prison carried the stench of more than just earthly decay. It harbored the dark, throat closing, skin crawling essence of evil masquerading amidst good.

Chains rattled, moans sang through the still air, rats squealed, and feet shuffled as another prisoner was escorted to another empty cell.

She could see him; see it all as clearly as she had once seen the light and colors of the world.

Bound hand and foot, head hidden by a black bag, a man dressed in filth and rags struggled between two heavily cloaked figures. Off balance by his blindness and the harness linked between his feet and hands, he was shoved roughly into the cell which closed with an echoing bang. The man staggered drunkenly about the room, bouncing into the wall before gaining balance while the lock was quickly secured upon his cell. A voice began to speak, the same voice, reciting the same words Laura heard echoed on her tv set. "In the year of our Lord 1742 to the ears of this judge monsignor Javier Mendoza, there comes a persistent public report that Englishman Henry Fitzroy, Duke of Richmond and Somerset, born 1519 died 1536…You are charged for inflicting vampirism and heresy against the faith and common good against this village."

Vampirism…Laura's mind had reeled from the accusation even while a part of her acknowledged the rightful truth of it. She had too many strange dreams depicting a young man trapped in youth and beauty fighting to recapture some semblance of humanity to argue against the idea. For always in her dreams there was blood and hunger and deep satisfaction mirrored in the moans of women and men caught in the throws of sublime sensual sex. The images, the sensations which echoed through her, woke in her deep pulsing desire. There were even times when the emotions trailing through her dreams swept through her in a tidal wave of fiery heat, igniting her own climax, and with that the clarity of a voice speaking only to her.

_Find me. Save me. Set my soul free._

"How do you know who I am?" Black eyes darker than sin and sharp teeth Laura could have sworn she had felt biting into her flesh once or twice, flashed as the man spoke. His face was visible now, for as the priest Javier Mendoza had rattled on, Henry Fitzroy snapped the chain between his wrists and removed first the bag over his head, then the band of a copper gag secured against his mouth.

"I will ask the questions in this court," said the voice from her television. Within her head, the second man whose nose was more a sharp beak and whose hollowed out face was covered by a layer of nervous sweat, said. "How can I not know what you are, Henry Fitzroy, when it is your friends who betray your evil into my very grasp."

HHHHH

A/N How am I doing so far? Got your attention? I'm having fun...is anybody else?


	3. Chapter 3

TITLE: Blind Love

CONTINUITY: Part 3

DISCLAIMER: Repetition gets old quick. See previous entries for admissions of use.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Is this the space where I write something more like a teacher's note to excuse me for my errant thoughts? Okay, then. Dear Readers, Fans of Blood Ties, and more specifically enamored hearts of one Henry Fitzroy, vampire; Please excuse this author for the moment. Due to an uncontrollable urge to step out of the norm of utilizing established characters in new plot lines and emotional explorations, she has contracted a terrible new plot line and character set that won't leave her head until it has been completely exorcised on paper. If you have any questions or concerns, please direct them via the "submit" email at the end of this entry. Sincerely, Me.

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As if she were watching a movie, Laura was glued to the scenes playing inside her head. Only they weren't just images filling her sight, but emotions flooding her senses as well. At the inquisitor's elated admission of an accomplice in his capture of Henry Fitzroy, a wave of heartbreak reached out toward her mingled with acceptance. Of course someone close to him had to have betrayed him, how else would anyone have known what he was let alone capture him?

Fear, too, coursed through her, the kind that left her cold and trembling. She knew it wasn't her fear, at least most of it wasn't, but that did not stop her own body from reacting to the strength of it. It was his fear, fear of remaining in captivity through the coming dawn, fear of the possibility that his inability to keep himself from humanity had sealed his fate.

Fear soon turned to agony.

Though the monsignor seemed nothing but an ignorant fool on a quest to fulfill his role in the Church's unholy Inquisition, he held enough knowledge of Henry's weaknesses to reap a great deal of pain upon him. When dawn came and Henry unwillingly succumbed to the daylight lethargy that all vampires were cursed to endure, the priest had him taken from his cell and chained faced down against a wall, legs and arms spread eagle, vulnerable. And there he was left undisturbed until sunset.

The first beat of his heart sent a painfully small amount of blood circulating through his body. The second beat stirred his lungs into drinking that first breath of air. The taint of decay, sickness, blood, and wet stone was something that would haunt him until his last living moment. Without opening his eyes, Henry knew he was being watched. He could feel the tripping heartbeats of two as adrenaline coursed through their bodies. They were both excited and afraid. The tang of it lengthened his incisors. The third heart beat was calm, detached; Mendoza.

A low growl rumbled through his throat. Instinctively, his body jerked against the chains binding him. And that is when he felt the fourth heart beat, heard the whisper of a sweet and penitent voice murmuring prayers on his behalf.

Rage burned in him. How dare she pray for him! He did not need her interference with God on his behalf. God and he were on fine terms.

"Stop!" He shouted. "Cease your prayers, woman! You have no right!"

"We only work to save your soul, vampire," murmured Mendoza from behind him.

Henry's right hand clawed into the stone. "My soul is not your concern, priest."

"On the contrary. All souls are our concern."

Because Henry could not see those who moved behind him, neither could Laura, but she could hear them. On her right, there came a rhythmic scratching like tiny claws rustling across stone. It took a moment for recognition to come to her; someone was writing. Something snapped. Instincts set his already cold body into icy chills. Though he had not experienced it in a century or more, he was all to familiar with the sound.

Whip.

Hands strangely gentle raised the bottom of his shirt, tucking it high around the tops of his shoulders.

"This is not punishment, vampire." Spoke Mendoza in measured tones. "We offer you a chance at redemption if you would but confess to your abomination."

"Go to hell, priest."

"Pride, is a deadly sin. We will strip that from you, vampire, and perhaps then you will see the Light of Truth in God."

The first strike against the naked flesh of his back shocked breath and sound from his lungs. The second burning impact hand him clamping down tightly on a cry that begged to be released from his throat. The third hit tore it loose from his soul. By the seventh he was hoarse; his fingers and face bloodied as well from scraping against the stone.

On the ninth, Laura broke free of the nightmare.

Sobbing into her pillow, breath ragged, heart slamming against her ribs, she fought the echo of Henry's pain as it throbbed in her own back. This had not been the first time she had seen him, felt him, watched him, been him. It had been the worst, however, and the one that had her picking up her phone and calling the one person she had trusted with the truth of herself; Sister Sarah Beggets.

The phone's first ring had scarcely begun when the good Sister picked up. "Laura, you need me."

Choking between tears and laughter, Laura wiped at her eyes. "I need you," she confirmed.

"Hang tight, my dear. I'll be there in eighteen minutes." Without further ado, the conversation was ended and Laura was left holding tight to a phone playing the annoying hum of a dial tone.

A/N Is anyone as surprised as I am about where this is going? Just remember, as Mendoza so lovingly claimed. "I am just a vessel of the Lord's will." In this case, it is the will of the characters which guide me. Sorry 


	4. Chapter 4

TITLE: Blind Love

CONTINUITY: Part 4

DISCLAIMER: It's really mine, all mine! Yes, I have had a bit too much chocolate, but hey, a writer can only dream. Right? Okay, if you believed that, I've got Henry in the closet and I'm not letting him out!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: To all of you who have had the patience to read these bits and pieces and taken the time to comment, I cannot thank you enough for all your kind words, praise, humor, understanding, and appreciation. The email's I receive all have an automated "do not reply" posted at the end, so I don't, but if any of you wish a reply or its okay for me to drop a note of response, let me know. For all of you who have read my work and are a bit too shy to make comments, good or bad, that's okay, but really you need not have any hesitancy. Good or bad, comments are always appreciated…especially those that are constructive. Again, all my thanks and at this writing….4 weeks to go! But who's counting?? ME ME ME ME ME!

HHHHHHHH

Unconsciously twisting the blood red garnet ring on her finger, she caused the silver bracelets on her wrists to sing. Their music, like wind chimes spun in a quick breeze, snatched Laura back from her memories into the uncaring glare of reality. Though she could not see them dancing on her wrist now, she had seen them through Sister Sarah's ancient eyes when the eccentric nun had slid them over her hand that night six weeks ago, the same night she had first heard Henry's voice from her television set.

Nearly numb with disbelief from hearing him in her home, Laura had dropped the phone twice before gaining a grip and calling Sarah. Like the first time, Sister Sarah had answered on the first ring. And just like then, she had arrived within minutes.

At the first firm knock on her door, Laura flung the panel wide and pulled the woman inside. Breathing as if she had been running, she tugged Sarah forward into the living room. "Quick, Sister. You're not going to believe this!"

Alarmed by Laura's state of high anxiety, the older woman followed. "Is it the dreams again?"

Shaking her head, Laura dropped onto the soft cushioned sofa and patted the space beside her. "Come, Sister. Sit."

Trying for calm, Sister Sarah hesitated. "How 'bout I fix us some hot tea."

"No, no tea. I need you to sit here. Next to me." Knowing she was sounding like some kind of freaked out mental patient, Laura took a breath and reached out. "Hold my hand, Sister Sarah. Let me see it through your eyes."

"See what, dear?" The old woman looked at the television sitting in its cabinet. "Advertisements?"

"Wait. Just wait. He will come on again."

With the patience of a martyred saint, Sister Sarah sat her thin body down. "Got any popcorn?"

"Sister Sarah, is that denim and bells I'm hearing under that habit?" Laura asked with a grin as she took up the older woman's hand. Thin and dry, it was like holding bones covered in rice paper.

Like magic, Laura's dark world came into perfect view. The autumn gold of her living room walls, the honeyed tones of her plush carpet, and the warm pecan in the wood of her television cabinet. On the screen, in full Technicolor, the last of a loan commercial transitioned into an armed man dressed in a tan trench coat and woman in dirty jeans, a black leather jacket and Wellingtons leaving an abandoned church.

As the man spoke, Laura recognized him as the character Mike.

"Is this it?" asked Sister Sarah. "What you wanted to see?"

"No, not exactly. At least not these two."

The sister leaned forward, her attention captured by the abandoned church. "What am I watching exactly?"

"Something called Blood Ties."

"Blood Ties?" Sarah shivered. "Sounds chilling."

Laura's voice deepened. "You have no idea."

"So, you're going to tell me what it is you're looking for?"

Grip tightening on bones, Laura motioned with her head at the TV. "I'm looking for him."

"Him? You mean Henry Fitzroy? The vampire of your dreams?"

Laura laughed. She couldn't help it. Leave it to Sister Sarah to put everything into rosy perspective. "You make it sound like I'm in love with him."

"Aren't you?"

"Hardly."

"Not even a little bit?" Sarah teased.

"Get a grip, woman!"

The hand in hers lifted. "I've got one, thanks."

Laura groaned. "You are incorrigible, you know that don't you."

Sister Sarah sniffed as if offended, but did not take her eyes from the images on the screen. "Like you didn't know that before you called me over…"

"Yes! It's him!" Laura cried out. "The one in chains."

"End your suffering my son. Smite the beast that corrupts your soul!" With a sick grin of anticipation Javier Mendoza lifted the whip he carried then brought it down with a resounding crack. In a blink, the image shifted to a man lying upon a filth strewn floor behind a wall of iron bars. Body writhing in pain, he moaned and called out.

"Maria! Please!"

"Oh, my dear sweet Lord in Heaven!" Sarah gasped out. Subconsciously she crossed herself as she recalled Laura's descriptions of the visions to her two months ago. As a young woman in a lace veil approached the bars, Sarah felt the cold finger of Fate trace its path straight up her knobby spine.

"Quiet!" said the beautiful novitiate. "The Monsignor will hear you."

At the sound of her voice, the man rolled with difficulty to his knees just as Laura rose to her feet.

He staggered against the stone wall. Low grunts of pain rose from his throat as he fought for strength. "I am a man." He claimed hoarsely.

"You are vampiro! Evil. You kill!"

Maria's words were filled with disgust and spoken with venom, but the young man bleeding from many wounds did not raise his voice when he said, "And I paint. And dance." He gasped for breath, his voice filled with unshed tears. With hands crusted with dirt and blood, yet still graceful in their movements, he brushed at the wounds on his chest. "And bleed."

Entranced beyond words, unable to help herself, Laura walked to the television, pulling Sister Sarah behind her like a lifeline.

"You've been sent to test my faith." Maria said with certainty, though the expression on her face was just the opposite.

Both women jumped as the injured man shifted with inhuman speed to the cage bars, his right hand reaching through to take hold of his accuser.

Sister Sarah watched in stunned silence as Laura and the young man spoke together.

"Your faith is about mercy."

A trembling finger touched the screen, tracing the angled planes of the young man's face. "It is him," whispered Laura. "It's Henry, the man living in my dreams." She turned to her dearest friend, her eyes filled with tears. "Oh God, how can it be, Sarah? Tell me you see him too! Tell me I'm not going crazy!"

Brushing the girl's dark hair from her face, Sister Sarah gave a gentle tug on the hand that held her. "Come, my child. Turn this sad tale off and let me tell you a story."

Laura blinked. "Turn it off? I can't. I need to see him."

"But you have seen him."

"No, I mean the man on TV. I need to watch the end, to see who he is, what his name is now."

Sister Sarah smiled. "I can find that out for you."

"How?"

"Why the Internet, of course! Now come, these old eyes grow tired of sharing."

Stepping delicately, Sarah led Laura back to the olive colored overstuffed sofa with its wine and pear colored pillows. Gently, she eased the girl down, the removed Laura's hand from her own.

Laura gasped as the color of her world snapped back to darkness, but she did not protest, for she could still hear his voice filling the room.

"If I do not scream, I am being protected by the devil. If I do, it is a trick… I have had enough of your judgment for one day."

"Take this," offered Maria. "And prove yourself."

Laura knew what was to happen next and unable to hear or feel it again, she blindly reached for the remote control and clicked the unit off. Setting the black cartridge back down on the side table, she turned toward Sister Sarah. "You said you had a story."

A/N: I'm sorry to leave you hanging like this, but I just can't help myself!


	5. Chapter 5

TITLE: Blind Love

CONTINUITY: Part 5

DISCLAIMER: With joy I acknowledge the creative prowess of others; Tanya Huff, Peter Mohan.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: With hope I send all my thoughts to those in charge of programming at Lifetime Television….Please be brave enough to take Blood Ties on forever! In yearning; I anxiously await October 12 and give thanks to the new set of commercials being rotated through. With Luv, I offer up my gratitude to the wonderful people who dance in the Devil's Playground with grace, hope, humor, and passion. You know who you are and you are the best!

HHHHHHHH

The old nun sighed, her hand sliding into the mysterious, voluminous fold of her habit. "Where do I begin?"

"The beginning?" quipped Laura with some nervousness.

"That's the problem. I'm not certain at all where anything began."

"Then start with what you know."

Sarah nodded. "That's as good a place as any, I s'pose. But you'll have to forgive me if I might wander through the tale."

Laura leaned close, hugging her. "I'll forgive you anything, Sister. You know that."

"That's good."

"And even if I don't, God will!" She finished with a smile.

"Bless His ever loving heart amen!" exclaimed Sister Sarah as she crossed herself. "Now then…" Her body shifted, easing into the comfort of the couch as if she intended to stay for quite some time. "I was ten years old when I was admitted into the orphanage at St. Michael."

Laura nodded, a smile curving her lips as she recalled the day. "I remember. You were a bit of a demon in rags, all wild hair and snarling teeth. You weighed no more than the wind, and when I held you, calmed you, your bones felt more like twigs beneath your oversized clothes. You were all knobs and ridges."

"I hadn't eaten a real meal in days…If it hadn't been summer time, no doubt I would have died long ago."

"No," said Laura with absolute conviction. "You would have made it. You were meant for me."

Sister Sarah sighed. "So it would seem."

Seconds turned to a minute as Sister Sarah filtered through her own memories. With an indulgent smile, Laura patted her lap. "Continue, Sister."

The frazzled gray hair bobbed. "Oh! Oh yes. I remember the day I first realized you couldn't see, at least not like anybody else. We had been in the gardens, tending the vegetables and herbs. Never in the year I had been there had I even suspected you were any different than anybody else. You worked, sang, moved through the orphanage halls and the church without hindrance or doubt in your step. But that day in the garden, Little Jamie had dropped his hoe to go chase the butterflies skipping about the rosemary. You didn't see it…"

Laura chuckled. Then she couldn't, she had been so shocked, but today she could. "I remember. My foot hit the end of the hoe just right and the handle rose up and struck me dead center on my forehead."

"The sound it made." Sister Sarah shuddered. "I will never forget turning around and seeing the river or red running down your nose before you fell backward into the cabbage."

"You were the first to reach me, the first to touch me, but the blow had me stunned and I could not see through your eyes. For a moment, I was literally blind."."You said it with such surprise, such shock, that the very heart in my chest froze. I couldn't believe it. Surely a good wack in the head couldn't have caused you to be blind! I reached out, took my apron to wipe away the blood."

"You were crying."

"I couldn't stop. At that very moment I was certain you were going to die."

"You were practically chanting." Laura said. "Don't die, Sister Mary. Please don't die and leave me too. You broke my heart that day, Sister Sarah, and healed it all at once. It was the first time anyone had ever heard your voice since your arrival."

Sister Sarah nodded. She remembered her lack of voice, stripped from her as her innocence had been at the hands of a foul foul man. But the past was the past, for her, gone and buried under the rubble of wars and the peace she had found in God. So instead of lingering on the bad memories, she moved on to the good. "Later that night, you took me into your confidence. You had me brought to your chambers, such a simple room really when compared to your home now, and you told me the secret the church had been helping you keep. "

"I knew I could trust you."

"I thought you were magic, a miracle, the most wonderful thing I had ever happened. You could never die, you could see things no one else could see…It was only when I got older, wiser, that I realized what a terrible burden you bore."

"I don't know that I can't die," admitted Laura quietly. "I know I don't get sick and if I get hurt, I heal fast. Very fast. As for my other gifts…They were obviously paid for with my sight."

"You never wondered why?" asked Sister Sarah.

"Not after the first century. Questioning God's motives never resulted in obvious answers."

Sister Sarah laughed. "I suppose not."

"What else do you know, Sister. I know you're not just reminiscing for old time's sake. You were never one to wander down the path of memory without reason."

"True." Her hands twisted through her habit, found the deep pocket and the old envelope inside. Her calloused fingers stained from years of working outside caressed the old linen, feeling the raised line of the closing flap. With a decision made, she pulled it out and pressed it into Laura's hands.

With Sister Sarah's finger touching her skin, Laura saw the item lying across her open palms. It was old, looked nearly as old as her. There was a red wax seal at the bottom corner of the closing flap; a stag bearing a crown. She shivered, but did not touch it. "What's this?"

"It was given to me by Sister Clarence the day you decided to leave the church and orphanage. She told me that there would come a time in your life when you would need this. I asked her how I would know when that was. Her reply was cryptic, but the minute you called me the last time, when you told me of your visions, I knew that now was the time.'

"Where did it come from?"

"She said it had been given to her by Father Michaels who had it from Cardinal Simonetti in Spain."

"Cardinal Simonetti?" Laura gasped. She recalled the man as clearly as she could the face of Sister Sarah, though it had been close to two hundred years since she had seen him last. He had been the first to recognize she wasn't like anyone else, the first to protect her from the fanatics of the inquisition. But for Sister Clarence and Father Michaels to have had this, kept this from her, meant it had to have followed her across the Atlantic for centuries. "What would have happened to it if you found I wasn't ready for it?"

"Sister Clarence said if it wasn't within my lifetime, I was to pass it on to someone I knew in my soul I could trust with its preservation.

. She didn't recognize the crest; however, she did notice that though it was nearly perfectly square, the envelope was not smooth. There was something inside, something that over time has left its mark permanently in the bottom right hand corner.

"Open it, dear."

A glance up into Sarah's sun and time aged face comforted the nerves fluttering through Laura's stomach. The seal was easy to break. Brittle and dried, it cracked under the slight pressure of her fingernail beneath the edge. Lifting the flap, she pried the linen up and tipped the envelope to let its content fall into her palm.

Two rings glittered in the lamp light cast off from the bulb behind her. The smaller of the two was a signet ring of black onyx set in gold. Within the raised oval of its surface a crowned stag reared, head arched as if in the throws of rage. Beside it, its silver band discolored and dulled with age, the second ring bore the weight of an oval shaped blood red garnet set in a frame whose surface was marred with a peculiar set of deep gouges. As she moved it closer to her borrowed sight, as her breath brushed across its dark surface, the center of the stone seemed to warm and pulse.

Laura shuddered as she felt her mind slip into a memory driven from the stone into her head.

"This is his," she whispered. Her voice broke on the words as with her mind's eyes she watched a very fat man, his face livid with rage, rip the jewel from Henry's limp hand.

"I will show you!" shouted the man. His words were not English. She knew this, barely acknowledged the fact that in her mind it did not matter. She knew what he said, what he spoke as spittle flew from his fleshy lips. Gasping, her body jumping on the sofa in reaction, she watched as he gave a swift brutal kick to Henry's ribs.

Deep into his daylight sleep, Henry didn't stir. She couldn't tell where they were, a cave, a dungeon, the light from the guttering torches the man held was only enough to illuminate Henry's motionless form curled onto a bed of rotting straw.

"Bind him in chains and bag his head!" The man commanded. He took a step to the side, revealing two burly ill dressed men waiting behind him. Eagerly they did as ordered, though their skills left much to be desired. With a coarse discourse on the prettiness of Henry's eternal youth, the fineness of his attire, they made a thorough and ill disguised job of personal assault as they bound Henry in weighted chains on both his hands and his feet. One man even went so far as to lay his thick tongue along Henry's smooth cheek, leaving a smear of saliva to dry as the black canvas bag was dropped over his head.

"Perfect," sneered the man as he gave one last kick to Henry's ribs. "Leave him here. The Inquisition will be arriving at sunset to take him to face his punishment."

"Yes, Don Cruces."

"Cruces, where do I know that name from?" wondered Laura.

"Maybe there's something in the letter…"

Laura fingered the folded pages inside. "Maybe." Using just the tip of her index finger and thumb, she slid the dried papers from the envelope and carefully unfolded them. A pale fragrance of lilac wafted from the page. She breathed it in and tried hard to focus on the writing. It was old, curled, beautiful and spoke of an age long past when penmanship was a highly prized skill and ink and paper most expensive. After several minutes of trying to make sense of the words scrawled so neatly across the page, she realized she was thinking in English, but reading in something else. "It's in Spanish."

"Can you read it?"

"I don't know. It's been a long time."

"Try, dear."

Laura sighed, narrowed her borrowed gaze, cleared her mind of superfluous thoughts, and tried to remember the language of her birth. In her hand the stone warmed.

_October 5, 1762_

_Daughter,_

_I have had these past twenty years to contemplate the workings of God and my sins upon this earth, and as I now lay in my death bed waiting to face the Gates of Heaven, I find I cannot let go this life without relieving myself of a heavy burden. It is a strange thing to say these words after all this time, but I hope in the end you will understand and forgive a frightened man his sins. _

_In the summer of 1742, the Inquisition was a way of life and fear amidst those of us who still had ties to the Gentile and though we were honest and faithful in our trust in God, we always lived with the threat of deceit and betrayal. Jealousy and greed were ever the motivators as such and if the Inquisition felt its coffers were low, a rash of accusations would wash over the land, taking with it many of the wealthy who have always been loyal to the King. France was a plague of hatred and blood and greed.. The wars, the bad harvests….It was all a person could stand before one more event tipped a man into insanity. _

_I tell you this so that you will have some understanding of why things happened as they did, not for any thought toward forgiveness, at least not from you. _

_We received word from our liege King, to open our home to a young nobleman of English descent, one Henry Fitzroy. Apparently the King was indebted to him, and though the young man refused all gifts of land or money, he was given a letter of introduction to any noble house in Spain should he have need of shelter. By the cut of his cloth, his wealth was obvious. His wisdom and knowledge were certainly beyond his years. We know not the boon he performed in service of our King, he would never speak of it, but it mattered little, for in no time at all, his charm and devilish wit which gained him quick entry into the heart of our family. He was the perfect gentleman, if not for the odd hours of business he kept. Still, we could hardly count that against the young, so when my wife discovered herself to be blessed with child once again, it came to us to offer unto him the hand of our dearest daughter Maria Elena. Young Henry Fitzroy was graceful in his declination of the suit, for he understood something my wife and I had been blind to; the good Lord's calling of our daughter. With passionate fervor, he beseeched us to allow her to take the Veil and after much tears, we gave our permission. You cannot imagine the sorrow and pride filling our hearts when she left, but we had the hope of a new born and the company of Henry Fitzroy. _

_Summer faded to autumn. Henry had been gone for about two weeks. We knew he had not left the area permanently, he would have sent word if he had. And though we missed him, my wife most especially, life had to move on. We had attended a business gathering of the local Dons at the hacienda of Don Del Escobar. The meeting wore late, and the weather grew especially bad. I would have heeded the invitation to stay as the other Dons had done, but my dearest wife was loath to be without her comforts, especially as she was nearing the end of her pregnancy. So we had the carriage brought and began the journey home. _

_The rain and winds were driving fierce. Thunder, lightening, it was the very angels in heaven were battling against a terrible evil. The road was flooded, pummeled into mud and ruts and the journey harsh. My own heart and head warred with each other as I cradled my dearest in my arms, whispering to her words of comfort as we both wrapped our hands about the life cradled within her womb. _

_Twenty minutes from the estate, a staggering bolt of lightning struck in front of the horses. Mayhem and terror erupted. Our diver was knocked off the carriage and broke his neck. A tree, hit by the lightning fell across the road. The horses took off. They leaped the felled tree, but of course the carriage did not. With an explosion motion of rending wood, of screams both mine own and my love's the world came to a complete and sudden end. _

_I have no idea how long I was unconscious, but when I gathered my wits, so certain I was dead and risen unto Heaven, I found to my horror, I faced Hell instead. In the slashing reflection of lightning which seared away the blackness of the night, I found the body of my dearest wife held in the arms of a demon. He cradled her with a tenderness that belied his fierce countenance. Pale of face, long dark hair streaming with rain about his familiar face, he did not see me stir. The cry he gave, a roar that sounded above the thunder and vibrated into my bones. Was paralyzed by what I was seeing, scared beyond witless as a name came to mind to fit the face. It was dear Henry Fitzroy who's open mouth revealed a bestial set of vicious fangs just before he buried them into my wife._

"Oh, dear lord!" gasped Laura. Slender hand traveling to her chest as if to keep the pounding beat of the muscle trapped behind flesh and bones, she could not stop the tears falling down her cheeks.

"What is it, my sweet? What news have you there?"

Laura shook her head. She could not speak of it. It was too frightening, to awesome, to heartbreaking to bear. She didn't need to read the rest, to surmise what was left, didn't know if she could, her hands shook so badly. But she forced herself to continue, hoping against the odds, that what she guessed was wrong.

_I heard his voice, deep as the pits of hell, cold and commanding. "Drink," he said to her who lay still as death in his arms. "Drink and you will live Donna Elena Cruces." _

_Somehow I still had my cane in my hand. Feeling its weight, its slimness, I knew what I had to do. They were so deep into their own wicked gluttony that neither heard the staggering approach of my foot steps. As I drew near, I released the catch at the tip, then withdrew the dagger I kept hidden within. I was nearly upon them both, so close, as to see the paleness of my wife's face regain color. So close I could hear her renewed breath even as I smelled the blood upon them both. At the last minute, as I raised the dagger and plunged it downward, the demon that wore our beloved Henry's face turned. The blade sank into his unguarded chest. With a silent gasp, and such a wounded look filling his black gaze, he collapsed over my wife and our unborn child. _

_I can remember little of how we came to return home. I remember only the servants rousing me, telling me my wife and child would live. I recall shouting, nearly screaming, when I was told they brought the demon unto my home. As quickly as I could arrange it, I had him tossed into the depths of the old dungeons, there to rot in chains and gagged until such time as the Inquisition could come and cart him away. I cared not for the wounds inflicted. I would have no concordance with such a vile thing King will or no. _

_I have no word on what became of the demon, save that it took the life of our first born daughter, no doubt as vengeance against his captivity. But my wife lingered on in pleasant for, seemingly unchanged with the exception of her deeper connection to God until the day of your birth. There at last, she left this world as she had been meant to leave all along. Your own sweet face, so contaminated by the blood that was passed on to you by that demon I had little choice but to give you unto the care of the Church._

Laura bit her lips to keep from howling. Knowing what had happened to Henry in the hands of the Inquisition, having felt first hand the depth of him and his torture, she knew there was something that had been left unsaid. The words were blurred in the reflection of her tears. Wiping away, she sifted through lines already read, then found the place where she had stopped.

_Three weeks ago, I learned from a visiting priest, that it had not been the demon Fitzroy who had murdered my Maria, but her mentor; Javier Mendoza who had gone inane with his power and ran a stake through her heart when he learned that she had released Fitzroy from his prison. In that moment of the priest's revelations, I saw that night again, but with a mind unclouded by fear and grief. I now believe that Fitzroy could have been no demon at all, merely a man trying desperately to save the woman I loved and I owe him the deepest of apologies. _

_I know you owe me nothing, I have done ought but ill toward you, but I would hope that you have your mother's sweet bearing and would see your way to finding Henry Fitzroy, friend of the King of Spain and the Cruces Familia, and offer unto him that which was so brutally stolen from him; peace, peace for a man sacrificed so much for us, so much so that you might live._

"His blood runs through my veins," said Laura with wonder.


End file.
